Our Mistakes
by justasimplesketch
Summary: Written for Inception Kink Meme. What happens to them after Eames cheats on Arthur? Major angst.


**Our Mistakes**

The silence lodges itself in his chest, causing the most exquisite pain. In the very least, he should receive reprieve for being honest, but the deadly silence signifies otherwise. His companion stands rigid and professional. That stance disappeared between them in months prior as their romance kindled.

A romance that seemingly unraveled in the time it took to confess a mistake.

"I would—"

A sharp voice stops further words, "No."

"Just let me expl—"

"You've done enough of that, don't you think? I trusted you. When everyone said it would end in disappointment, I defended you. Your '_mistake'_ just proves what a mistake I made." He turns quickly, his face set severely. "I'd appreciate you vacating _my_ flat immediately. Whatever you don't take of yours, I'll destroy." After that, he stiffly walks to his office, slamming the door closed and a subsequent click fills the air. Entering the bedroom they share_d_ – the past tense of the thought makes his heart clench painfully – he grabs his duffle bag and shoves his clothing in haphazardly.

He glances on top of the dresser. An elegant picture frame. It encapsulates a happier time. If only those cheerful bastards knew what would transpire. Grasping the side of the frame, he throws it against the wall. The sound of shattered glass brings him to his senses.

Bolting out of that bedroom, he pounds on the office door like a maniac. The annoyed occupant throws the door open.

"If I was the man you first met, I wouldn't have admitted what I did. There would have been more than one drunken mistake. No alcohol would have been involved." He pauses wearily, "I'm a fuckup; I get that. I fucked up big time."

The severe man remains unchanged. "Yes. To both." Any hope dissolves in that moment. The defeated man turns on his heel and stops only when he hears an exasperated sigh. "Eames."

The forger turns around, having thought he would never hear his name fall from those lips. Only a second later, Arthur procures a gun and shoots him in the head.

Eames wakes up with a start, stomach in absolute knots. He yanks the line out of his arm and closes his eyes, trying to dull the nausea. His projection of Arthur progressively gets worse with each passing day. Glancing over at the empty desk, the forger quells the nausea growing more intense. Standing with shaky knees, he strides to his desk and grabs his jacket. Exiting the warehouse, Eames digs into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He's been smoking heavily since that night. It's the only thing that calms his frayed nerves.

He walks the short distance to Ariadne's flat, pulling the hood of his jacket up to block out the snow and blistering wind. He turns the handle and the door opens; she no longer assumes he won't be sleeping on her couch.

The flat is small and less than immaculate, in contrast to his previous residence. Ariadne is sitting on the couch, legs crossed and tucked underneath her oversized sleep shirt. Her head turns, giving the forger a sympathetic glance before patting the spot beside her. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tosses it over the back of a chair. The architect tries not to take sides, thus they remain mostly silent on the subject. She offers comfort with her reassuring smiles and hugs. If only Eames could be as enthusiastic and convinced.

He stares mindlessly at the television, his brain in conflict between the bright images and sounds and those of Arthur. _Arthur laughing. Arthur kissing him. Arthur telling him to get out and never speak to him again._ The pain concentrates in the middle of his chest, making breathing difficult. But breathing's been difficult since that day and almost always seems pointless.

"Eames, you can't keep doing this to yourself. He just needs time to process things." Her words remain similar night after night. Perhaps, days one through four allowed for such optimism, but the forger is facing nearly two weeks without a simple glance from Arthur. The point man says very little to anyone. He diligently works, answering questions when needed, and leaves immediately after they finish for the day. "I'm going to bed. Please try to get some sleep." She pecks his cheek sweetly before retiring to her bedroom. Without thinking, he grabs her keys and his jacket and goes out into the blizzard. Lighting another cigarette, he walks the streets until he reaches the flat he hasn't seen in nearly two weeks. He glances at his wristwatch; it's half past one and the lights are still on. Not unusual for Arthur, but he imagines the lights don't go off until about dawn. That explains the vast amounts of coffee Arthur consumes and deep circles forming around his eyes.

Foolishly, his legs travel to the door and his fist knocks. Surprisingly, the door opens, revealing an emotionless face. Had he been anyone else, Eames wouldn't have noticed the brief flash of pain in Arthur's eyes. It lasts only seconds, but it's enough.

"You're going to make me stand out in the blizzard?" The point man nods, mouth pressed into a thin, severe line. "I suspected as much. If I freeze to death, that's one less miserable person on Earth and one less person fucking up your existence."

"Because your demise will solve _all_ of my problems." The sarcasm is unexpected, as is Arthur speaking at all. "Why do you get to be the victim? You're the one who cheated. Yet Ariadne holds _your_ hand and tells _you_ everything will be better. Everyone just ignores my fucking pain. Oh, cold, calculating Arthur must not feel a fucking thing. Obviously must be a robot because Good Ol' Eames is trying so hard to do right by him." The bitterness in his voice makes Eames wince.

"You don't let anyone in."

He laughs, it almost sounds hysterical, "Look what happened when I did. And no one has tried. No one has pulled me aside and asked me how I am."

"How are you?" Eames asks immediately, hoping it'll make up for something, anything.

"Why should it matter to you? Of all fucking people, why you, Eames?"

"Because you have _always_ mattered. My mistake was a drunken, selfish one. But if I didn't fucking care about your well-being, I wouldn't be standing on this doorstep during a heavy snow. Humans aren't infallible or have you forgotten that?"

Arthur remains hardened, "Are you really going to use that?" A humorless bark of laughter follows. "You spent years convincing me that you had feelings. Not just feelings for me, but feelings period. That you weren't just looking for your next conquest. What you did is unforgivable. I spent these past two weeks mulling over everything. Trying to see if this relationship was salvageable. And it's not. It's not worth saving. Saying yes to you was the biggest mistake I ever made. And I've made some catastrophic mistakes."

Eames stands frozen, unable to think or talk.

"Hopefully, you'll not let this affect your professionalism during the job. Good night, Mr. Eames." Arthur closes the door in his face and locks it. The forger stares at the closed door, unable to process what just happened. Reaching into his pocket, he feels for his poker chip.

It confirms what he already knows.


End file.
